


First Year Down

by t_fic (topaz), topaz, topaz119 (topaz)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Background Relationships, F/M, Getting Together, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 20:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/t_fic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/topaz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/topaz119
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It′s hard to believe, Steve thinks, but it′s been a year since he woke up, a year since he first saw the New York his city had become.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Year Down

It's hard to believe, Steve thinks, but it's been a year since he woke up, a year since he first saw the New York his city had become. He stands by the penthouse window and looks out at the skyline. It's familiar now, familiar enough that he can't really remember what it looked like when he was a kid. He's not sure whether he's okay with that--there have been a lot of days when he hasn't been--but he still remembers how it felt to walk down the neighborhood streets, to walk up to the stadium and catch a game. Those are the important things, he thinks. The buildings and the lights and the signs--they still reflect that same spirit, that same soul.

"You're staring at that window like you can make it implode--you didn't let Stark or Banner fiddle with you any, did you?" Clint says, walking up behind Steve. That's different, too: when Steve first woke up, he didn't trust anyone-- _couldn't_ trust anyone--enough to let them come up behind him. He spent the first weeks and months in an exhausting state of constant high-alert, worse even than being on a mission, because then he had the Commandos, his _team_ with him. It took a long time--even after Loki--to really get that feeling with the Avengers, and as much as he misses the Commandos, he's happy the new team has gelled.

"No, I know better than that," Steve says, with a smile. Tony has been pestering Steve non-stop lately, wanting to see if he can figure out the Super Soldier serum for all that bio-enhancements really aren't his field. Steve guesses he's bored--it’s been quiet on the super-villain front for more than a month, so it’s either that or Tony wants to figure it out because Howard couldn't. Or both. "I was just thinking how much has changed."

"Seventy years is--"

"No," Steve says. "I just mean, it's been a year since... Everything," he finishes, with a shrug.

"It's like your birthday," Tony says, from the other side of the room. "Gotta have a party."

Natasha slips around behind him, snorting, "I’m sure he’s heard about your parties, Stark."

Tony waves her objections away. "Of course he has; I pay people good money to write that shit." He eyes Steve with a disturbing intensity. They've come a long way since the antagonism and mistrust of their earliest interactions, but outside of Captain America and Iron Man, Steve has no idea what goes on in Tony Stark's head. "That's not the kind of party we need for our Cap, though."

His voice is a little mocking, a little sarcastic, and it's not much more than his standard attitude, but it suddenly irritates Steve.

"Really?" Steve's chin comes up, and his shoulders square. "You say you always have the best--that's not good enough for your team?"

Somewhere behind him, Steve hears Clint snicker but he's too busy staring Tony down, until a slow smile creeps across Tony’s face. Steve's seen it once or twice, usually aimed at Ms. Potts, so he thinks it's a real one.

"Hey, Coulson," Tony calls, without looking away from Steve. "There’s nothing on the radar, right? We’re clear enough to take the jet out for a couple days downtime, yeah?"

Agent Coulson looks up from where he's been studying a computer screen; since he’s been not-dead, Steve's getting better at reading him, too, and knows the long-suffering look is only about halfway real. The rest is just for show. Coulson studies Steve, and Tony, and shrugs. "As long as we can reach you," he says, and almost immediately goes back to whatever's so interesting on the computer.

"Excellent," Tony, well, purrs, looking Steve up and down, like he's taking Steve's measure, and there's that flash of irritation again. Steve doesn't bother to hide it. Tony smiles. "I'm thinking Vegas. You in?"

"You got it," Steve snaps, and this time the smile Tony flashes him is almost blinding.

* * *

"What?" Natasha says, dropping into a seat on Tony's private jet. "No strippers?"

"Fury made me promise to behave," Tony says. It's just him and Steve, Clint, and Natasha on this 'birthday' trip. Thor and Dr. Foster are in Asgard, and once he’d heard the destination, Dr. Banner had stared at them for a few seconds before laughing and passing. Tony smiles an almost real smile at Natasha. Natasha returns it in kind. "Feel free to let me know your preferences and I'll be sure to take care of it the next time we fly anywhere." He's already got a glass of scotch, Steve notices. He tries not to frown, but probably doesn't succeed, not if the way Tony smirks at him while he answers Natasha is any indication. "Boys? Girls? Blondes? Brunettes?"

"Yes," Natasha says, her smile taking on an edge that Steve is probably better off pretending he hasn't noticed. "Redheads, too." She and Tony share a look, but then she turns to Clint and wants to know what he thinks of the new alloy he's been tipping his arrows with. She's thinking of a set of knives, apparently. Steve should pay attention--it's his team and all--but mostly he's just relieved she's talking shop, not daring Tony wordlessly, so he's going to just sit back and watch the country flow by beneath the clouds. Somewhere along the way, he dozes off; when he opens his eyes again, Tony and Natasha are both asleep. Clint nods quietly to him, and that's the best part about having a team again--the best part of the Avengers coming together: knowing without words that it's okay to sleep, that someone will have your back. Steve is glad that it’s not just him who’s feeling that ease and trust. He’s doubly glad that Clint knows it’s him they’re trusting, too; he knows it’s been a hard trip back from everything Loki laid on Clint. Agent Coulson re-appearing from the dead had done a lot to help, but it’s taken Clint a long time to work through everything else even with all the support the rest of the team could give him.

The plane touches down smoothly in Las Vegas and before Steve knows it, there's a helicopter to take them to their hotel, which is ridiculous and excessive and very, very Tony.

"Only the best for my team," Tony says, and Steve kind of wants to smack him, but it was a little bit of his own fault for starting this whole thing, so he just stays quiet and gets in the helicopter for the two-minute ride to the hotel.

"The Bellagio," Clint shouts, as they duck under the blades and hurry across the roof. "You might be a prick sometimes, Stark, but you do know how to party."

"So glad you approve," Tony says, and it annoys Steve that the look Tony shoots Clint is actually friendly. If Steve had said something like that, he would have gotten one of those superior-looking smirks. He's not sure why exactly that bugs him, but it does.

They're met by a squadron of hotel employees who take them to a suite that's bigger than most houses. Steve's almost embarrassed by his plain Army duffel as luggage, but he catches Tony watching him, so he wills back the blush and insists on carrying it himself. Tony hands around tips liberally, and yeah, there's one of those smirks directed at Steve.

"What?" Tony asks, and Steve flushes at being caught staring. "Spinach in my teeth? You don't like my shirt?" Tony makes an impatient gesture, and Steve sighs mentally, because here they go again. "Please, enlighten me."

"It's just, what you gave the last guy was more than I made in a month, even when I got paid as a captain," Steve answers honestly. "I know it's now, not then, but sometimes, it's like the world goes out of its way to slap me in the face with it."

Tony eyes him suspiciously for a couple of seconds, as though he expects Steve to say something more, almost like he's expecting Steve to blame him for something, but Steve's not annoyed with him and he's not going to let Tony prick him into picking another fight. It works--Tony finally shrugs a little self-consciously and says, "The money--it's not quite an apology in advance, but that's not completely out of the question."

The door to the far bedroom slams shut, which has Steve whirling around reflexively. Tony jerks around, too, but there's nothing to see but the leather jacket Natasha had been wearing dropped carelessly on the floor. Steve looks a little closer and sees Clint's hoodie under it. And his t-shirt. Tony makes a thoughtful sound.

"I'm not entirely sure who to congratulate in this scenario, but, hey, good job, guys." He claps his hands together once, and turns back to Steve. "So, Dad, since the kids are keeping themselves entertained, what say we go find a craps table with our name on it."

He herds Steve towards the door, ignoring his half-hearted protests of never having played the game before.

* * *

"You know, you could have mentioned you were banned from the floor before Security showed up," Steve mutters, as they get escorted back up to the penthouse.

"Total misunderstanding," Tony answers, smiling in a way that reminds Steve of a shark he'd seen in an aquarium once.

"Mr. Stark isn't banned, exactly," says the security officer with the suit Steve thinks might cost as much as Tony's. "He's just exceeded his promised floor time."

"Pepper," Tony mutters to Steve. "A couple of years ago. We had... words about how much time I was spending out here, and she got the sad eyes--you know the ones--" Steve nods: he's seen Ms. Potts with her disappointed look and he doesn't know how Tony doesn't just crumble under the weight of it. "Yeah, so I promised I'd hold it down and we made it official and all." He mock-salutes the security officer, who, Steve notes, is very nice and completely professional about everything, and then sighs when his phone starts playing music. "You had to call her?" Tony... well, Steve might say he whimpers, but only in his own head.

"It _was_ a term of the agreement, sir," the officer says with an apologetic smile. He nods politely to Steve and disappears back into the elevator.

"Pepper," Tony is saying over the laughter coming from his phone. "Really? This is how you're a gracious winner?"

"Oh," says Ms. Potts. "I am a completely gracious winner; I'm even calling to let you know I'll be picking up my winnings in person." They're talking on Tony's video phone; Steve has another one of those moments when the world spins away from him as Tony rolls his eyes at the phone and Ms. Potts laughs back at him. "In Paris, of course--the only store that stocks the particular bag that was part of our agreement is the Hermes flagship store."

"Of course," Tony says. "You know I would never back out on a deal--"

Steve is, even after a year of monitoring Natasha on comms, frankly shocked at what he hears Ms. Potts say. Tony smiles in an 'I'm-so-proud' way, which somehow eases the tension, at least until Ms. Potts says, severely, "And while I'm not believing a word that comes out of your mouth, have you stopped with the metaphorical pigtail-pulling and decided to be mature about Captain Rog--"

"Gotta go, Pep, have fun in Paris," Tony says loudly, and ends the call. "Okay, so," he says, just as quickly and loudly to Steve, "since the dynamic duo are still entertaining themselves, and I'm banned from the floor, how about we go check out the Friday night fights?"

"I--you don't have to babysit me," Steve says, and he sounds stiff and unfriendly, he knows, but obviously Tony has been talking about him with Ms. Potts and it's just … weird.

"No, no," Tony says, still too heartily. "That's why we're here, right? Celebrate a year of not being frozen. If you don't want the fights, how about dinner? Steak? Lobster? It's Vegas--whatever you want, we can get."

Steve hesitates, and Tony says, with a gravity that Steve's seldom seen and even less frequently directed toward him, "Seriously. I know you don't have much reason to believe me, but I'm not jerking you around here."

Tony meets Steve's eyes, and if he's not quite easy about it, he _is_ sincere, and Steve finds himself nodding. He tells himself it's because they're teammates and he shouldn't let an opportunity to improve their relationship go by. Teammates doesn't quite explain the smile that lights up Tony's face--so much better than the smirk that's usually there, Steve thinks--or the one Steve responds with, but Tony's already off on an extended riff about where they can go for dinner, so it's easy for Steve to let himself be distracted.

He eliminates a wine cellar as a necessary requirement for his own happiness with dinner, and thinks he manages not to be so judgmental that Tony won't use it if it's necessary for his. (After all, Steve thinks, what he doesn't know about good food would fill an encyclopedia, except it turns out they really don't have encyclopedias here in the future.) He's not sure about sushi--more because he has to eat a _lot_ , all the time, and he can't quite see making a meal out of little bits fish and rice--but other than that he okays pretty much anything. After a couple rounds of no-really-that's-fine-with-me-if-it's-fine-with-you, Tony just shepherds him out of the suite and down to the steakhouse on the lake.

It's packed, but Tony is Tony, so they're being seated within minutes of walking in, and when Steve looks helplessly at the over-sized menu, Tony takes it out of his hand and says, "I got it," and reels off a laundry list of food to the waiter, stopping only to ask Steve how he likes his steak. Before the waiter has even gotten three steps away from their table with their order, someone else is delivering two solid, heavy tumblers full of the smoothest Scotch Steve's ever tasted and Tony's proposing a toast to _Teamwork. And cool toys_.

"I can drink to that," Steve says, and Tony smiles at him again. Steve finds himself thinking that while he might not be able to get drunk on alcohol, seeing Tony's eyes light up like that is maybe an entirely different story. Fortunately, distraction arrives again, in the form of another waiter with salad, which turns into an entire production of cut garlic rubbed into the bowls and eggs being cracked and somehow turned into a dressing and by the time they're alone again, Steve's firmly not thinking about why he's so taken with Tony's smiles and is happy enough just to hold up his end of the conversation.

"No shop talk tonight, yeah?" Tony says, and before Steve can wonder about what else they might have in common, Tony's sent the conversation off on some crazy looping spiral about schools of art and how the Surrealists lost all sense of originality in the second half of the century-- _Seriously, Rogers, you didn't miss anything while you were, you know, chilling_ \--and Steve forgets they're sitting in the middle of one of the nicest restaurant he's ever been in and puts his elbows on the table and argues with Tony because he's seen some of Dali's later work and he thinks people were just doing that thing where they have to tear their idols down when they complain about it. Tony waves his fork at Steve and tells him his brain’s still thawing out and the waiters keep bringing food. There's a steak the size of Steve's old apartment that's so tender Steve wonders why they brought a lethally sharp knife along with it. Tony has lamb that he insists Steve should try, and then there are the plates and plates of onion rings and garlic-butter mushrooms and crisp, sweet Brussels sprouts that cover the table. The creamed spinach is so good Steve eats the whole platter before he realizes it, but Tony only waves off his apology and the waiters bring more before he can really feel too badly about it.

Somewhere in there, maybe around the time Tony is insisting that the only thing Steve can possibly get for dessert is apple pie, and Steve's insisting back that he's not _that_ much of a cliche--which it turns out that he is, because the pie is really, really good, and he has to remind himself that they're in public and he can't lick the plate--Steve realizes he's having a good time. A terrific time, even, and he thinks Tony is enjoying himself, too, and that's--that's better than good. It's great.

On the way back up to the suite, after Tony lets him eat about half of his own crème brulee, which Steve's never tried before (come on, who's he kidding? He's never even _heard_ of it before) but will definitely remember for later, in the easy silence that's somehow fallen between them, Steve finds himself smiling.

"What?" Tony asks, and Steve shrugs.

"Nothing," he says. "Just, thanks--it was really nice of you to set all this up, and--"

"Yeah, that's me," Tony says. "Pure altruism, through and through," and he's back to that mocking, sardonic smirk, the one that Steve hates, and he might be a little stupid (or a little stupider than usual, his brain says, because hey, if you're comparing yourself to Tony Stark, there's not going to be much going on your own favor) from all the food and the Scotch and the general good feelings the dinner set up, but he has _no_ idea what he's said to undo the whole night. 

Tony watches with that attitude, of course, but maybe because Steve’s not on his guard and doesn't have an automatic attitude to give right back, Steve starts noticing things, things he's generally too annoyed to pay attention to, things like how Tony's off-balance at Steve not playing his part, and how he himself isn't actually all that invested in whatever this thing is where they snap and snarl at each other. Steve hasn't been for a while, he thinks, since about the time they started being able to work together flawlessly. He was just too stupid to stop and think it through. He doesn't know what exactly's going on, but the longer he cocks his head and looks at Tony, the more Tony's eyes skitter around the elevator. The more Steve stands there relaxed, the more wound up Tony gets, and as crazy as it seems, now that he's actually thinking instead of reacting, Steve doesn't think Tony's trying to pick a fight because he can't stand being around Steve.

"I wasn’t being sarcastic," Steve says. It’s easier than he’s thought it might be to let his voice be mild and non-accusatory. "I really did have a good time, and it really was nice of you to set all this up." He waits until Tony shrugs at him again, and then adds, "Why does me thanking you make you uncomfortable?"

"I’m not uncomfort--" 

"Tony," Steve says as calmly as he knows how. "Please don’t try to convince me that the last two minutes haven’t been different from the last two hours." 

For a few seconds, Steve thinks Tony is going to do just that, use any excuse (Steve can see it now, how they both reach for excuses) to needle Steve until he loses patience and returns the sniping, but then it’s like all the fight goes out of Tony, and he says, "Yeah, no, you’re right."

With the worst timing ever, the elevator arrives at the penthouse, and Tony is off and into the suite. Steve follows more slowly, still thinking about whatever just happened in the elevator. He’s turning it over and over in his mind--Tony, and the sudden switch in attitude--not really paying attention to the room, so that he halfway jumps out of his skin when Ms. Potts sighs, "Tony."

She smiles and says hello to Steve and even though she looks and sounds sincere (he’s seen her impersonal smile, the one he thinks of as her corporate expression, and this isn’t it) when he says, "I’ll, uh, leave you two alone," she doesn’t try to stop him.

Mostly he wants to go think about everything he’s finally realized about Tony and their interactions, but as luck would have it, the door to the second bedroom opens right then and Clint comes out, laughing back over his shoulder.

"In your _dreams_ , Barton," Natasha is saying from somewhere still inside and Steve doesn’t think Clint means for him to hear how he answers with a low, sincere, "That’s what I thought about the rest of this so I might as well aim high, darlin’," but when Clint sees him standing there, he only smiles and shrugs as he closes the door. Steve likes that Clint isn’t apologizing for anything; it gets old when everyone assumes sex embarrasses him (as if Steve’s best friend and almost-brother wasn’t the biggest skirt-chaser in all of New York.)

"I, uhm--" Steve isn’t exactly sure what he’s supposed to say, which will hardly be a surprise to Clint and he’d just leave it at that, except that he doesn’t want Clint (and by extension, Natasha) to think he’s disapproving so he all but falls over himself to accept when Clint asks if he wants to go grab something to eat even though it’s only been a couple of minutes since the last time he had food in front of him. 

"Someone," Clint says with an eyeroll, "wants food but is too lazy to pick up the phone and call for room service, so I’m elected to take care of it for her." He grins, though, and adds, "She, uh, did say she’d make it worth my while, though."

"I can see where that could be a good incentive," Steve says, and he doesn’t exactly mean it the way it came out, but Clint laughs, hard enough that Steve can only guess at what he’s saying, but it sounds like _You have no fucking idea, Cap_. At first, Steve thinks he should protest, because he actually did spend his formative years with Bucky and the Commandos, but then he thinks about Natasha--really thinks--and decides to just press the call button for the elevator and leave it at that.

Clint leads him off the elevator and right to where there’s a buffet laid out, the main table going the length of the room, with chefs carving hams and roast beef and side tables for desserts and fruits and more chefs making pasta and Steve honestly isn’t sure what else. He’s been awake for a year now, but it still takes him a second or two to process scenes like this. Even just the produce available on almost every corner in Brooklyn now is so incredibly different than everything he remembered from the Thirties and the war. 

"Cap?" Clint’s saying, and Steve shakes himself out of his memories and realizes that the hostess is waiting to seat them. "You good?"

"Sorry," Steve answers. "Sometimes..." He nods to the food and shrugs.

"Yeah," Clint snorts. "Believe me, I am right there with you. It’s like it’s not even real some days--not even close to how the world was when I was a kid."

Clint rarely speaks about his childhood, or even his life before SHIELD. The most Steve’s heard him say is the occasional off-hand remark about circus superstitions. Once, after a complicated twisting flip had gotten him clear of a collapsing building, Tony had announced, 'The Amazing Hawkeye, ladies and gentlemen!’ and Clint had laughed and taken an exaggerated bow to the applauding agents, but then there were Doombots to corral and debriefings to organize and nothing more had been said. 

"I don’t think I could have even imagine this when I was a kid," Steve says. 

"Yeah, so I’m giving you fair warning," Clint says. "I’m not the guy to back down from the all-you-can-eat challenge--it’s personal, y’know?" He’s not kidding--as soon as the waitress brings them drinks, he’s off to start filling a plate. Steve is amused that he does a fast recon first, but that’s their Hawkeye: always checking out the situation.

Steve really isn’t hungry, but he can’t pass by the fruits, pineapples and melons and berries all tumbling down on top of each other, everything fresh and beautiful. Clint catches up with him there and Steve admits, "Sometimes I don’t know whether I should draw things like this or eat them."

"Tell me you really don’t mean that," Clint says.

"Okay, no," Steve answers. "Maybe draw _and_ eat?"

"Better," Clint says around a mouthful of figs and prosciutto (which Steve can identify only because Ms. Potts loves the combination and JARVIS makes sure the kitchens at the Tower are always stocked; somewhere in there Steve thinks the entire team might have become addicted to it) and for the second time in an hour, Steve finds himself deep in an unexpected conversation with a teammate. This one ranges through the ways they’ve scrounged food in their lives--by unspoken agreement, they both avoid their childhoods, but anything in the service is fair game and while Steve does have some good ones from his days with the Commandos (he’s pleasantly gratified when Clint is impressed that Bucky brought down a wild boar with a single shot) , Clint has decades of experience all over the world--and somehow ends up with Clint promising to educate Steve on the finer points of cooking a whole hog (one that they also agree that Thor will _not_ have hunted) if Steve will give him a lesson or two on making bread. 

Steve waits while Clint goes through one last time and puts together food for Natasha and then they make their way back across the crowded lobby to the elevators. 

"Thanks," Clint says as they’re waiting. "For not--you know, saying anything about me and Nat."

"I don’t think anyone on the team will care," Steve says. "Well. If it’s a long-term thing, Thor-- There’s probably some kind of a feast for the occasion--but I’m pretty sure that’s not what you’re talking about."

"Yeah, no, though that’s probably the truth," Clint says with a thoughtful frown. "I should probably just let Nat deal with the Asgardian traditions. She’s better than me at saying 'no’ diplomatically--" Steve tries to choke back the laugh at the thought of 'Hawkeye’ and 'diplomatic’ in the same thought, but it’s a losing proposition. Clint doesn’t take offense, though, just grins at him in acknowledgement. "What do I know--maybe she’ll be up for it. It’s not like I didn’t totally miss what was apparently an entire campaign of signals she’s been sending lately."

"If it helps, I don’t think I’ve ever not missed one of those signals," Steve hears himself saying. It’s more personal information than he’s used to sharing with anyone these days, but it feels less awkward than he expects it to.

"Yeah, we kinda figured that out after the scenario played out with the waitress," Clint says, dry and deadpan. Steve shrugs, because, yeah, between her expectations and his general obliviousness, it had been something of a mess. Clint could be giving him a much harder time than a little gentle teasing. "I always figure that if they’re really in it for the long haul, they’ll figure out the subtle hints aren’t gonna cut it."

"It’d still be nice not to be completely in the dark," Steve says. "At least some of the time."

"Not going to argue with you there," Clint answers. The elevator finally arrives and the sudden quiet as the doors close is welcome after the energy and noise of the lobby area. 

"You and Natasha--you’re pretty seamless as a team. You really didn’t--" Steve says, but then can’t quite decide how to say that it’s hard to believe Clint didn’t know things had changed without being insulting. Clint snorts.

"Yeah, I definitely win Most Clueless," Clint says. "It was just--we danced around this a lot when we first partnered up, you know? I mean, not even _I’m_ dumb enough to miss how beating the shit out of each other on the mats was a pretty raging case of subtext that wasn’t so, uh, sub." He flashes Steve a self-deprecating grin. "But--I don’t know, we both needed--and I really mean _needed_ , like oxygen-needed--a partner, not somebody to fuck and... once it got stuck in that Do-Not-Touch box, that’s where it stayed. Until, you know, I missed a year’s worth of clues."

"It looks like it’s turning out fine, though," Steve offers. 

"Yeah," Clint snorts. "Fortunately, she decided to grab me rather than, you know, stab me for being an idiot, but yeah, it’s, uh. Yeah. Good." The elevator door opens; Clint steps out, but then hesitates. Steve follows his lead. "It’s like... it was okay before, good even. We were partners, solid." Steve nods, and Clint continues slowly, "But this is better. Like we’re at the right place at the right time and everything fits." 

His smile is open and unguarded, not one that Steve can really remember ever seeing on his face before. Steve’s almost jealous of him--of _them_ \--just because they have each other but he pulls himself together enough to say, "Good--that’s, yeah, like you said, that’s good," right as the balcony door slams open and Tony comes in. 

"Still alive, Barton?" Tony says, looking him up and down with a smirk that’s friendly under the slyness. "That’s... impressive." 

"You don’t know the half of it, Stark." Clint’s grin turns wicked as he throws a half-salute at Steve and disappears into the bedroom out another word, leaving Steve and Tony staring at each other. To Steve’s surprise, it’s Tony that breaks the silence with a "Yeah, so, sorry about earlier." He shrugs. "I don’t deal with thank-you’s well." He turns and looks over his shoulder at where Ms. Potts is standing in the doorway out to the balcony and half-smiles at her. "Or, you know, at all."

It’s not the most gracious apology, but it _is_ one, and that’s not something Steve’s heard much from Tony and certainly not something he expected to hear now. He should accept it and move on, except... 

"There’s more to it than that, though, right?" Steve is stupidly proud that he manages to say that in enough of a non-accusing voice that Tony doesn’t instantly revert to cold sarcasm and lets Steve continue, "If I’m doing something--acting some way that’s making this, this _thing_ between us worse, I... I’d really like to know." 

Steve swallows hard, because he hasn’t actually thought about this and it’s hard to find the words. It’s important, though, for reasons he also hasn’t thought through. He resolves to do something about that, but later, after he hopefully doesn’t screw up another conversation with Tony. "Because I... liked dinner. I had a good time and I’d like it if it could be more like that between us."

He isn’t sure what kind of a reaction he’s expecting (well, to be honest, he’s more-or-less braced for Tony to throw all of that back in his face because that’s just how they are with each other) but it’s not for Tony to stare at him open-mouthed and then mutter, "Oh, jeez," back over his shoulder. Ms. Potts smiles slowly, and when Tony turns back toward Steve, he’s wearing an echo of that smile.

"I had this planned out, Rogers," Tony says, and he sounds amused, which Steve is going to take as a not-bad sign. "Had it all worked out, got myself in the right place to say that this BS between us is just that and I know I’ve got issues with my dad that are spilling over to you and me--and then you go and say all that."

"I didn’t--" Steve starts, but Tony waves him off.

"I’m still saying all that," Tony says. "I’m just not going to stop there." 

Ms. Potts has one hand up over her mouth; Steve can tell she’s smiling but she also looks a little... shocked, which definitely concerns him, but Tony’s talking again. 

"Right, bad with thanks, total BS between us, dear old dad, and you’re actually right, there is more, and this is where it gets tricky."

"Tony--" Ms. Potts says, but then Tony reaches behind him and she takes his hand and lets him pull her up beside him without any further comment. He looks at her questioningly and she smiles and shakes her head. "I’m still with you," she says and Steve can see how much that calms and heartens Tony. 

It’s shameful and humiliating, but this time there’s no 'almost’: Steve’s swamped by a tidal wave of envy at that. Worse, he thinks Ms. Potts sees. She doesn’t say anything, though; Steve’s going to pretend it went unnoticed. Maybe he can speak with her later, in private, and try to explain or maybe just apologize. It’s another thing he needs to think through later, but for now he needs to figure out what’s going on with Tony.

"Tricky," Steve prompts. 

"Tricky," Tony repeats. "As in, I liked dinner, too, except I’d like it to be a whole lot more." The last part comes out quickly, so that Steve has to stop and replay it in his mind, and even then it doesn’t quite make sense until it suddenly _does_ and all Steve can hope for is to not look like an idiot. He’s not sure he accomplishes that because Tony gives him another one of his shrugs, and says, "Yeah. Like I said: tricky." 

He meets Steve’s eyes steadily, and Steve doesn’t see anything but determination and a little nervousness. There’s no joking or sarcasm, nothing mocking. Ms. Potts, too--she isn’t reacting the way Steve’s seen her when Tony’s done something annoying or aggravating. She’s still holding his hand and she’s not upset or angry, not at all, and that’s good, but Steve still has no idea what’s going on.

Tony keeps watching him, like he’s waiting for Steve to lose control, and that, more than anything, makes Steve determined not to.

"I think 'tricky’ is an understatement," Steve finally hears himself say, and he’s not proud of the little zing of accomplishment he gets at the surprise that flickers in Tony’s eyes, but they’ve been picking at each other for a year now and old habits die hard. 

"Maybe we should sit down," Ms. Potts says, in a tone that says there’s no 'maybe’ about it at all, one that has both Steve and Tony moving toward the sofa and chairs in the elaborately-furnished living room. She lets Steve take a chair by himself, but makes sure to settle on the end of the sofa nearest to him, Tony pressed up close next to her. "Now," she says, looking expectantly at Tony.

"Hey, I said it," Tony says. 

"You did, and very nicely, too," she tells him, adding a quick kiss at the end. It’s like it was before, Tony settling and calming under her attention, and Steve isn’t quite as blindsided by all it stirs up inside him. "I think there needs to be a little more, though."

"Yeah, yeah," Tony says, in his best flippant voice, but when he turns back to Steve, he’s back to all business. "Look, you can take that however you want--as the reason why I’ve been a shit, an invitation, whatever--"

"Tony," Ms. Potts sighs 

"What? It’s true." Tony glances at Steve. "All of it. Every time we were _on_ , you know, out in the field--" 

Steve nods; he knows exactly what Tony is saying. They can work incredibly well together, almost read each other’s minds, _trust_. 

"Yeah, every time I’d come in from that and want more, it was..."

"Not a good place," Steve offers. He’s not sure who that surprises the most, Tony or himself, but things are starting to fit together neatly in his own head now. He doesn’t know what he’s going to make of it, but it’s a start. 

"Got it in one," Tony says. He’s back to staring thoughtfully at Steve. "You know, when I said I wanted more, I was mostly saying it because it was an explanation for a lot of things, but I’m getting the feeling it really could have been an invitation."

"Why? Because I haven’t--" Steve doesn’t want to say 'had a tantrum’, but that’s what he’s thinking Tony’s thinking.

"Swooned?" Tony suggests instead, and yes, he’s smirking, but it’s the kind he usually aims at Clint or Natasha, the one that’s always seemed to exclude Steve. Then he gets serious again and adds, "Thrown me through a window? Stormed out and never came back? Left the team?" and Steve understands they’re all things that Tony risked. 

"'Swooned’ works," Steve says dryly. Tony has that surprised look again; Steve can admit he likes being the cause of it. "It’s not every day a fella gets an offer like that, you know."

"Did he--Did you just make a _joke_ , Rogers?" Tony turns outraged eyes to Ms. Potts, who is, Steve judges, trying hard not to laugh out loud. He can admit he likes that, too, making her smile like that. "Is he allowed to do that?"

"Apparently so," Ms. Potts answers. "He is also apparently allowed to take us seriously enough to let himself joke with us, Tony." 

"Yeah, I noticed that, too," Tony says, bringing her hand, the one he’s been holding onto the entire time, up to his mouth to brush a kiss across her knuckles. He turns back to Steve and adds, "It is an _us_ making the offer, by the way."

"I wouldn’t have listened this far if it wasn’t," Steve says. It gets quiet again--which is something of a world-ending event, as Tony always has _something_ to say--but it’s surprisingly not uncomfortable. It’s not particularly helpful, though, so Steve finally ventures, "I don’t have the first idea how this is supposed to work, but I figure you know that already and won’t be surprised if I ask a stupid question like, uh, what exactly _is_ the offer."

Tony and Ms. Potts exchange another one of their looks, and then Ms. Potts says, "Us."

"For real," Tony adds. "If you want us."

By that point, it’s not exactly a surprise, but hearing it laid out like that is surreal no matter how Steve comes at it. The other two let him work it out, waiting as patiently as Steve’s ever seen them. (Ms. Potts is not as manic as Tony but she doesn’t suffer fools gladly and always seems to have the next ten things she needs to do lined up and ready to go. He doesn’t often see her waiting for anything, much less anyone, but she is now.) 

"How _is_ it supposed to work?" Steve finally asks.

"I have no idea," Ms. Potts answers honestly. 

"Ditto," Tony says. He shrugs. "I don’t know how any of this stuff works."

Steve sits and thinks about it all some more. It’s not anything he’s ever considered, but then, even with Peggy, he’d only had the vaguest of assumptions of the life he might want. The war had been everything then, and since he’s woken up, it’s been all he can do to try to find his place in the new world. He thinks about working with Tony, about how easy that’s been right from the first time they stopped thinking and started doing and about how Tony is with Ms. Potts and Colonel Rhodes. He thinks about Clint, suddenly, how he and Natasha had had a place but had found something better, and he thinks about Clint’s smile and his own envy of it.

"Okay," Steve says. "Yes."

"Okay?" Tony says. " _Okay?_ We say we have no idea what we’re doing and you say okay?"

"Not knowing what we’re doing has never stopped us in the field," Steve says, shrugging. Ms. Potts is trying not to laugh again. "I figure it shouldn’t stop us now."

"Who are you and what have you done with our uptight--oof," Whatever else Tony is about to say is lost when Ms. Potts elbows him in the ribs and all his breath goes out in a pained-looking rush. 

"Still me," Steve says seriously. "My--my _friend_ took the chance to say what he felt and I just figured I owed him the same honesty."

"You do know you’re the only person in the world who could say that in all seriousness, right?"

"Tony, stop," Ms. Potts says. "You’re making him blush."

Steve can feel the heat in his face; he knows he has to be beet-red (stupid fair Irish skin) but Ms. Potts is smiling at him and it’s not a bad trade-off. It’s even better when she reaches over with her free hand and lays it on top of his knee. Steve looks at it and then up at the two of them and can’t really believe they’re all here at this place, but then there’s a discreet _bing_ and Ms. Potts sighs.

"If I’d known you were actually going to go through with this, I would have rescheduled things, but I really do have to be in Brussels by tomorrow afternoon," she says. "That’s the helicopter to the airport."

She taps something on her phone and frowns at it for a few seconds, but then looks back to Steve and smiles again. "I’ll make you a deal--you get Tony all to yourself this weekend if I can put something on your calendar early next week for just the two of us, world-ending scenarios aside."

Steve glances at Tony, who’s watching everything with the smuggest of expressions, something along the lines of when he’s bested untold bastions of bureaucracy. "I’d, uh, like that, thank you." 

Ms. Potts smiles even more brightly at Steve and leans up to kiss him. It’s the lightest and briefest of kisses, but Steve can tell he’s blushing even harder than before. 

"Behave," Ms. Potts says to Tony, dropping a slightly more involved kiss on his mouth, and then is gone in a flurry of phone calls and texts and heels clacking on the marble floors of the suite.

"So," Tony says. "I wasn’t kidding when I said I don’t know how this stuff works."

"Neither was I," Steve says. They stare at each other for a few seconds, but for all that they've just agreed to, it's an easy silence, so different than how they've been with each other all along that Steve can only wonder at it.

"How hard can it be?" Tony asks, and Steve laughs.


End file.
